The Descent

This was no place to  cut  men,  two  months  out  from  the  nearest  civilization.  But  Ike saw no reward  in arousing her indignation all over  again. 'Sure,' he said. 'Why not?'

'I thought they'd  been guaranteed employment for a year.'

He  hooked  a  coil  of  rope  with  one  hand  and  busied  himself  with  knots.  'We've  got worries  of  our  own,'  he  advised.  'They're  about  to  become  a  powder  keg.  Once  they figure out we're  ditching them, it's a matter  of time before they  go for us.'

'For us?' she started.  'For revenge?'

'It's   more   basic   than   that,'   Ike   said.   'They'll   want   our   weapons.   Our   food. Everything.  From  a  strictly  military  point  of  view  –  Walker's  view  –  the  expeditious thing would be to frag them and be done with it.'

'He would never  dare,' Ali said.

'You  don't  see  it?'  he  asked.  'The  porters  are  segregated  from  the  rest  of  us  now. That  side cave  is a cage with no  door.  They  can  only  come  out  one  at  a  time,  and  that makes them easy  targets  if they  get tired of being cooped up.'

Ali  couldn't  believe  this  other,  meaner  layer  to  the  expedition.  'He's  not  going  to shoot them, is he?'

'No  need.  By  the  time  they  finally  decide  to  poke  their  heads  out,  we'll  probably  be long gone down the river.'

All  over  again,  the  quartermaster  opened  the  loads  and  laid  out  the  supplies  from Cache  I.  One  of  his  first  tasks  was  to  distribute  specially  made  survival  suits  to  the soldiers   and   scientists.   Made   by   Jagged   Edge   Gear   for   NASA,   the   suits   were constructed  of  a  ripstop  fabric  that  was  waterproof  but  land-friendly.  He  issued  the suits  in  sizes  from  small  to  extra  large.  A  wiry  mercenary  ran  them  through  the basics.

'You can walk  in  it,  climb  in  it,  sleep  in  it.  If  you  fall  overboard,  pull  this  emergency ring  and  the  suit  will  self-inflate.  It  preserves  your  body  heat.  It  keeps  you  dry.  And it's shark-proof.'

Someone made a joke about a magic suit of armor.

The   suits   were   a  composite  of  rubbery   shorts,   sleeveless   vests,   and  skintight oversuits.  The  fabric  was  night-striped  with  charcoal  gray  and  cobalt  blue.  As  the scientists tried on their elastic  clothing,  the  unsettling  effect  was  of  tigers  on  two  feet. There  were  a few wolf whistles, male and female.

They  tried  lowering  a  video  camera  to  examine  the  lowest  reaches  of  the  shaft. When that didn't work, Walker sent down his crash dummy: Ike.

Not  so  many  years  before,  a  trail  must  have  led  from  the  chamber  down  to  the river.  Ike  had  already  spent  part  of  a  day  looking  for  it.  But  along  the  most  likely tunnel,  there  was  a  boulder-choke  triggered  by  recent  tremors.  Hadal  evidence  was everywhere  –  carved  pillars,  washed-out  wall  paintings,  spouts  to  lift  streamlets, rocks  piled  to  divert  them  –  but  no  suggestion  that  the  hole  had  ever  been  used  the way  they  were  about to use it, to access the river  from straight above.

Ike  rappelled  into  the  stone  throat,  feet  braced  against  the  veined  rock.  At  the bottom  of  the  first  rope,  a  hundred  meters  down,  he  peeked  upward  through  the falling water.  They  were  watching him, waiting to see what would happen.

The  shaft gave  way  to  a  void.  Ike  had  no  warning.  His  feet  were  suddenly  pumping

against the blackness. He halted, dangling in a vast,  quiet bubble of night.

Casting  around  with  his  light  beam,  he  found  the  river  fifty  feet  below.  He  had descended into a long, winding geological cupola. Its  vaulted  ceiling hung above  the flat river  surface.  Strangely,  the  thunderous  noise  stopped  the  moment  he  left  the  shaft. It  was practically silent here. He could hear the water  slithering past, little more.

If  not  for  his  rope  leading  up  through  it,  the  shaft  hole  might  have  disappeared among  all  the  other  gnarled  features  above  and  around  him.  The  walls  and  ceiling were  scaled  with  igneous  puzzles.  It  was  a  complicated  space  with  one  logic  –  the river.

He let himself down the line  and  locked  off  within  reach  of  the  water.  It  ran  smooth as  black  silk.  Tentatively,  Ike  reached  his  fingertips  against  it.  Nothing  leaped  up  to bite  him.  The  current  was  firm.  The  water  felt  cool  and  heavy.  It  had  no  smell.  If  it had come from  the  Pacific  Ocean,  it  was  no  longer  sea  water;  the  journey  inward  had filtered any salt from it. It  was delicious.

He made his report  on a  short-range  radio  that  Walker  had  given  him.  'It  looks  fine to me,' he said.

They  lowered  like  spiders  on  silk  threads.  Some  required  coaxing  for  the  rappel, including several  of the soldiers. Clients, thought Ike.

The  launch was tricky.